Our Secret
by KindHeartedWriter
Summary: Watson, Sherlock, and Molly all have a secret they are hiding from one another. One follows another to protect them from heartache. One is falling for another, and hides it from both of them. And one believes that for the better good, they must forget about the one they would do anything for.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Sherlock eyed Watson, who was busy scribbling away in his "blog" at the kitchen table. Watson glanced over at Sherlock, arching his eyebrows in puzzlement. As the sun set, casting shadows that gradually began to slant in the flat, Sherlock never moved from his spot across from Watson.

Watson glanced up again, the second time since he had first glazed Sherlock, and then he threw his hands up, startling Sherlock. "What is it?"

Sherlock had just recovered from having a slight heart attack and scowled at Watson. "You need to let me know when you're going to do that. I nearly reached the point of no return."

Watson looked confused, eyebrows slouching, and before he could speak, Sherlock went on. "Had you done that for a longer period of time, and my heart had kept running in my chest, I could have died. Watson, you could have became a murderer. It's a good thing I'm not easily startled."

Watson let Sherlock ramble until he heard the last part. "Sherlock, you are _not_ easily startled. I hardly ever startle you." Sherlock looked unconcerned by Watson's news. Watson looked around the quiet flat, and then back at Sherlock, his eyebrows shooting up now. "You were startled by me because you're thinking!"

Sherlock looked slightly annoyed, pale blue eyes beginning to burn though they were cloudy with daydreams. Sherlock. Daydreaming? Watson almost wanted to start laughing.

"I think all the time, dear Watson." Sherlock said, and for once, Watson ignored the patronizing tone the man across from him often used when he was trying to avoid an uncomfortable topic.

"No, Sherlock," Watson said, and closed his journal. "You're _thinking._"

"I know what it is called when neurons in the brain connect continuously and the person becomes unaware of their surroundings." Sherlock said tightly. Sherlock leaned away, his elbow leaving the table. For a second, Watson wondered how long Sherlock had been watching him, and why Sherlock had been so quiet. "I think in absolute stillness sometimes." Sherlock mused. "I become something like a weeping angel."

Watson smiled for a moment at the Doctor Who reference and then he nearly exploded out of his seat, realizing what had made Sherlock so still. "Sherlock, you were daydreaming." Surprise made a big smile come to Watson's face.

Sherlock scoffed, leaving his seat. Watson almost thought he detected the faintest shade of pink spreading across Sherlock's face. "Watson-"

"No!" Watson interrupted, cutting Sherlock off. This wasn't Sherlock's normal thinking habits. "You were off on the moon this time. What was it about?"

Sherlock looked confused and paused from turning around. Sherlock turned back slowly, dark hair ruffled. "What was what about?"

"Your daydream." The word sounded odd as Watson asked Sherlock. "What were you daydreaming about?"

Sherlock's eyes tightened around the edges and Watson knew then that he shouldn't have asked. Sherlock had the poker face of a professional thief and could lie just as well as he could pretend he was oblivious to knowing he had won the game.

"Nothing," Sherlock said and Watson gritted his teeth. And then Sherlock added in a low voice, "Of consequence."

Watson wanted to dance around the room. "You were thinking!" Watson was somehow out of his chair and pointed at Sherlock, accusing him of the most natural thing in the world. "Tell me, Sherlock. I'm curious. I've never seen you daydream before."

Pleasure flooded Watson and Watson gestured to the table. "Do it again."

Sherlock arched one eyebrow, his eyes twinkling as he tried to find a way to evade the situation. "Watson, are you well-"

"Do it again!" Watson barked and Sherlock seemed ready to take a step back. "I won't watch. I've got things to do."

"Ah." Sherlock looked uncomfortable as he slid, obediently, back onto the seat of his chair. "The blogging." Watson ignored Sherlock rolling his eyes and sat back down at his own seat. "How's it going?"

"How's what going?" Watson asked, his eyes going to Sherlock's face and back to his blog. Watson wanted to watch Sherlock daydream again, he couldn't help it.

"The blog." Sherlock specified, sounding slightly less annoyed. He was doing it. Watson pretended to surf through the pages of his blog, trying to look interested.

"It's going." Watson thought back to the days he'd mark the page with the date and write, '_Nothing happens to me_.' That was hardly the case now. "It's tedious, writing every day."

"Write at night." Sherlock said matter-of-factly. Watson watched as Sherlock reclined into his chair, propping his boots on the table.

"What's so special about writing at night?" Watson mumbled, thinking crossly to the therapist secessions that led to nowhere. The dreams weren't as horrifying as they used to be, but Watson would rather stay awake. Sherlock's idea didn't sound half bad.

"Well," Sherlock said, his voice soft. Watson leaned forward slowly, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice the attention Watson was giving him. "Just think of it. Writing by the light of a freshly lit candle. Looking at the dark ink while it stains the man-made material that came from a tree's bark. . . It sounds ideal."

"I suppose."

Sherlock went on, almost to himself now. "I mean, Watson. You could do anything at night, really. Writing, reading. . ."

"I suppose," Watson said again, and he watched as Sherlock's eyes clouded over. Watson grabbed his pen, ready to look busy if Sherlock looked up suddenly, but Sherlock looked very far away. Watson was confused when Sherlock sighed softly and unfolded his already-crossed arms.

Watson stared, almost in awe.

Sherlock only thought constantly when he was greeted by Lestrade with a case. Lestrade's cases were usually solved in no time with Sherlock's help, but Watson found the cases to be almost bothersome as they involved traveling all over London. Sherlock enjoyed the busyness and pulled Watson along for most of the cases. Watson didn't mind that part. It kept him from writing in his blog and tending to the tidy flat.

Watching Sherlock now, Watson couldn't deny the strange peace that stilled Sherlock's features. Working with him on a case, Sherlock seemed almost animalistic as he fought to figure out the motive of a criminal. Now, Sherlock almost seemed like he was napping though he was very much awake. Sherlock seemed to be in a pleasant place, and was far from the barbaric man he was when he thought for Lestrade.

"What's he thinking about?" The words, though softly spoken, fell out of Watson's mouth without his permission.

Sherlock didn't jump, much to Watson's belief, and only remained still. Watson smiled, realizing that somehow Sherlock hadn't heard him, and then the flat bell rang.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of Watson's pounding heart beat in his ears. The unexpected ring of the bell had startled Watson, who hadn't been thinking at all. Sherlock would have normally flown out of his seat, but there he sat, so deeply lost in thought he seemed out of touch with reality. Watson sighed, feeling a familiar echo make sweat beads pop on his forehead. Loud unexpected noises did more and more to him these days-

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson cried. Watson jumped again, and was relieved when Sherlock stirred. Sherlock did jump, and he jumped so hard he seemed to shed his skin. Sherlock jumped violently, falling backward in his chair, landing hard on the floor, and lying in a daze momentarily.

"Oh!" Watson cried in disbelief and ran to Sherlock's side, who looked rather red in the face and slowly coming back to his senses, his limps moving awkwardly as he tried to gather his bearings. "Are you all right?" Watson's arms found Sherlock's shoulders and he pulled Sherlock to his feet.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock looked still dazed and shook his head roughly. "Um. . ."

_Sherlock does not mumble._ Watson thought, shocked as the intelligent man in front of him, who usually was walking around with a mouth full of words, stuttered for several long moments. Concern filled Watson. "S-Sherlock?"

Common sense seemed to slap Sherlock in the face and Sherlock suddenly straightened up, shaking Watson off. "I'm fine!" Sherlock said sharply, and then to Mrs. Hudson, who was still calling him, "Coming, Mrs. Hudson!"

Watson watched, confused, as Sherlock scrambled to his feet and raced out of the kitchen and out of the flat, clomping down the stairs. Watson stood there for a moment, almost dazed himself. He rubbed the side of his head and righted Sherlock's chair, leaning against it as he wondered for his unusually absent-minded friend.

"Sherlock, what's going on-" Watson said when he heard footsteps behind him. Watson turned around to see Molly Hooper standing in the kitchen doorway. Watson stood up straight from leaning against Sherlock's chair, surprised. "Oh, hello, Molly." He had seen her around London plenty of times, as Watson had taken up an uncomfortable duty of following Ms. Hooper around. . . Seeing her in the flat shouldn't be surprising.

Molly nodded slightly, blushing. Her dark brown eyes roamed the flat, and Watson tried to remember the last time she had been there. "Hello, Watson."

Watson chuckled softly at his confusion by the fast-paced day and offered awkwardly. "Would you like to have a cup of tea?"

Molly shook her head rather quickly and said, "No, thank you. Sherlock's asked me to help with something."

Watson paused, lost. _What ever could that be?_

"Well, um," Watson said as Sherlock entered the threshold behind Molly. Watson paid attention as Sherlock dodged around Molly with an 'excuse me' and Molly stepped out of the way a second too late. Her cheeks darkened another shade of red as Sherlock walked to the kitchen cupboards.

Watson took a moment to gaze at her attire. Molly was never one for expensive dress suits and ties. She stood before the both of them, clothed in a floral flannel shirt and fitted dark wash blue jeans. Her feet were hidden in her trademark dark rain boots with the bright blue flowers on them. Her hair was braided down the middle and the rest of her hair stirred faintly in the air as the air conditioning unit did its job.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Sherlock offered Molly and Molly glanced at Watson, shaking her head. Watson suddenly remembered the season and asked himself why he would ask Molly if she wanted tea during July. Then Watson thought to Sherlock, who was normally aware of such things. _Sherlock must be preoccupied_-

"No, Sherlock. I told you, I have to be back at my flat by nine o' clock." Molly said, looking slightly harassed. Sherlock turned to her, looking hurt. Watson hated the way Sherlock looked at Molly, and how Sherlock had sometimes looked at him when Sherlock wasn't getting what he wished. Sherlock looked like a kicked puppy and he knew it.

"Please, Molly?" Sherlock asked, and took a step to Molly.

"Oh, Sherlock, if she doesn't want a cup, she doesn't." Watson said to defend Molly. "Quit giving her that look."

"What look?" Sherlock turned to Watson, the 'kicked puppy' look still on his face. It intensified when Watson rolled his eyes.

"Stop it." Watson hissed and took a small bow directed at Molly. "Let me know if you need me to harm him."

Sherlock's jaw dropped as Watson slowly took straight again. "Watson! Friends don't harm each other."

"Are we friends?" Watson asked sarcastically, looking over at Sherlock quickly. "Friends don't shoot randomly in the flat they share."

"I was bored." Sherlock said in a monotone, and then rose to meet Watson. "Friends don't interrogate friends about daydreaming." Sherlock countered.

Molly looked surprised, her mouth dropping open into a small _o_. "You were daydreaming?"

Watson and Sherlock both turned to Molly with a, "Yes!"

They both turned back to each other, their bickering becoming more confrontational. "I wouldn't harm Molly, Watson."

"And you wouldn't daydream either." Watson said sharply and Sherlock looked hurt this time.

"You're saying I'd hurt Molly?" Sherlock sounded angry at the implication. "I wouldn't lay a hand on her." Sherlock snapped.

"Not with your hands!" Watson snipped and they both froze, the realization dawning on Sherlock at the same time Watson heard his words. Sherlock knew now what Watson was trying to say. Watson had never liked how Sherlock had treated Molly when Watson had first seen the two of them in a room together.

Watson heard his words, and while he had meant to say them in a better way or not to get upset with Sherlock or say what he meant to say so bluntly, Watson was dismayed by the way he came across. He immediately spoke the very second after the silence had settled in the room. "My apologies, Sherlock."

Sherlock shook his head quickly, his eyes clouding over again, in a different way. His dark curls followed his head. "It's fine, Watson. I know very well what you mean, and I don't intend on. . ." Sherlock looked at Molly somberly. "Ms. Hooper will be safe with me." Molly tried to smile but she looked nervous at the rather explosive exchange between the flatmates. "She will call you," he said to Watson, and then to the nervous Ms. Hooper, "do you understand, Molly?"

Molly looked daunted but she nodded very seriously. Watson sighed at himself, and stepped around the two of them to make a cup of tea for himself. "Call me when the kettle boils."

"All right, Watson." Sherlock said, and Watson grabbed his blog off of the table.

He laid on his bed, his eyes running over the words he had written before the exchange. He scribbled down his exchange with Sherlock, and then in CAPS, he wrote a single question:

_What is Sherlock thinking?_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sherlock turned to Molly, apologies on his lips. "I apologize sincerely for our behavior, Molly."

Molly brushed it off but Sherlock could see the confusion in her eyes. He and Watson hadn't been far from losing their temper with one another, and Sherlock couldn't remember if Molly had ever seen them bicker. He wanted to smile, to reassure her, but being with her after his confrontation with Watson made him feel awkward around her.

Molly stood around the small kitchen, her eyes moving around the flat. "I've only been here a few times. Nothing changed."

"Mm." Sherlock hummed, his pale blue eyes watching her dark brown ones appraise the flat. Sherlock was surprised at how different this felt compared to all the other 'few' times Molly had been in their flat. He almost felt like he was standing too close to her, and that somehow the air supply was dwindling rapidly.

"Why is that?" Molly asked suddenly, and Sherlock controlled himself as he was yanked out of his thoughts, staying in place while only his eyes widened.

"Why is what?" Sherlock asked, and tried to pay more attention to the pretty young woman in front of her. Immediately, Sherlock rebuked himself. Dr. Molly Hooper wasn't merely 'pretty'.

"Why has nothing changed?" Molly asked and Sherlock wanted to lean in closer to her to hear her voice. "Do you not like remodeling?" The way she spoke. . .

Sherlock answered swiftly and tried to control his thoughts more. His mind palace was crumbling as the days went on. "I never had the creativity or patience for such a. . . Tiresome task."

Molly smiled and eyed the pale tones of the flat. "Maybe we could it together sometime."

"We could remodel a flat?" Sherlock asked in a monotone he hadn't intended to use. It slipped when he talked to people, and as he became more aware of how socially awkward he was, he didn't like his monotone. It closed him off from people. Sometimes he wondered why he cared, but then he thought to Watson and the lovely Molly Hooper-

"N-No." Molly backtracked. "We could. . . Practice."

"How does one practice remodeling?" Sherlock asked, and he saw a sparkle in her eyes. He had piqued her interest. Sherlock smiled, knowing that for a while, all Molly would do was talk and he could listen to her voice, not her words. . .

"I can't get into that." Molly said, shaking her head slightly as she refocused, and Sherlock felt disappointed. "I've told you, Sherlock, nine o'clock."

"Nine o'clock won't be for a while." Sherlock pointed out, knowing that it was around six o'clock, and confusion darkened Molly's face, bringing out the lighter bits of brown in her eyes. "B-But you're right." He couldn't hide the fact that he liked her presence for much longer. Sherlock tried to keep the disappointment off of his face and out of his voice. "You have important matters to attend to. . ." Sherlock's voice faded as he wondered what they would be.

"Don't you?" Molly asked him and at his head shake, Molly looked more confused. "How so? Lestrade isn't asking for your help?"

"You know how quiet London becomes when it's hot outside." Sherlock gestured to the window. London had gotten warm, as warm as it could get, when July had arrived. "Everyone's inside plotting."

Molly smiled, a tiny double curve, and looked around.

"What's the matter, Ms. Hopper?" Sherlock asked, smiling at her increasing interest. Molly looked at him, looking at his lips, and the smile vanished as quick as it had arrived. Sherlock tried to hide the pleasure in his voice that often made his voice harder. He lowered his voice and tried to soften it, knowing he would still sound like steel. "Would you like to look around?"

Happiness made Molly smile brightly and her eyes filled with thousands of joyous sparkles. "Would I?" Molly gasped in joy and then she seemed to stop and compose herself. Seriousness made her smiling mouth become a neutral expression while her eyes retained some of the bright sparkles. "I-I mean, of course. If you wouldn't mind."

Sherlock nodded and took the lead, leading her to the counters, smiling to himself. He heard her squeal behind him, in happiness he hoped, and the smile almost appeared on his face. The look of pure happiness that made her face become a beautiful, warm sun had made him feel warm in his heart. He wouldn't mind if she never went home. He wouldn't mind if she stayed the night with Mrs. Hudson, just a floor down. He wouldn't mind handing her one of his dress shirts to wear around his flat. He wouldn't mind if she-

"I know what a cabinet looks like, Sherlock." Molly said shyly next to him. Sherlock looked at Molly, taking a second to gaze at her intently, as he often did. He knew that to her, and to others when he looked at Molly, he might appear as if he were thinking of some way to mock her. What he was really doing when he gazed at Molly was imagining pulling her to his chest, both hands on her hips, and then spinning her around, listening to music only he could hear.

Sherlock brought himself back by saying, cockily arching an eyebrow while doing so, "You do? Why, Ms. Hooper, you're much more educated than most of the people who come here. Watson's friends are clueless."

Molly's face didn't change but he saw something in her eyes that made him fluster. "You're very smart, Molly. I didn't mean to offend you."

Molly shook her head quickly and Sherlock turned back to the cabinets for a moment, repulsed with himself. He may be naturally sarcastic, but he doesn't intentionally hurt the feelings of those he held dear. He wanted to turn to her, grab her hand and say, "I apologize, Molly, really, I do," but he only glanced at her and said, "I know that you know what a kitchen looks like. How about one of the other rooms?"

Molly nodded, and Sherlock noticed one of her nervous tics: her dark brown eyes seemed to darken in hue and her hands found each other, locking fingers. She was nervous to walk around his flat now? It must have been something he said.

Sherlock began to walk out of the kitchen, but he paused and turned around, nearly bumping into Molly. Molly took a quick step back and Sherlock leaned down, trying to get eye-level with Molly. "Would you like something to drink?"

Molly's lips quivered for a second, a second so brief Sherlock thought he imagined it. "A glass of water would be fine."

Sherlock let a smile appear on his face and he said, "Coming right up." He dove to the cabinets and pulled out one of their taller tea cups. He set it on the counter and pulled out one of the two pitchers they had. The pale one had water, and the dark blue one held tea. He poured the contents of the pale pitcher into Molly's cup and put the pitcher back inside the refrigerator. Sherlock grabbed the cup and turned to where Molly was, expecting her right behind him, only to find her hovering by the window where he played his violin.

For a second, Sherlock gazed Molly, enchanted. Her brown hair was streaked with the color of sunset from the open window, and her hair was stirring faint, so faintly, in the breeze that crept through the flat. It had been raining earlier, hence her trademark rain boots, but for some reason, Sherlock couldn't see any hint of frizz in her hair. Her brown eyes were thoughtful as she turned to him from looking out of the flat and then she spoke, her pink lips hypnotizing him.

"Is that for me?" Molly asked and Sherlock nearly took a step back as the pleasant, high-pitched tone of a relaxed woman nearly made him rush over to her and. . . and. . .

"Yes." Sherlock answered and deftly handed her the cup. His pale blue eyes lingered on her slender fingers as she took the cup. Fortunately for Sherlock, he could multitask and think of several things. However, when her fingers brushed against his as she took the tea cup from him, Sherlock was lost in the feeling of skin against his, of her skin against his. His thoughts jumbled and Sherlock fought to resort them, straining to hold up the crumbling walls of his mind palace.

"You all right?" Molly asked and Sherlock watched her sip from the cup and swallow. Her tiny Adam's apple bobbed as she swallowed a delicate sip of water, and Sherlock had to swallow tightly, hopefully not obviously, before he answered her question.

"Fine, just fine." Sherlock said quickly, too quickly, and then he turned his back on her, frustrated with the ruins of his mind palace. "Let's go, shall we?" He glanced behind him and was momentarily surprised when she set the cup down on the countertop. "You drank that rather quickly, Molly Hooper."

Molly blushed lightly, pink spreading across light pink, almost peach colored skin. Molly tanned very nicely and her face was light and dainty. "I ran here."

"You ran here?" Sherlock paused from turning back around to lead the way. "Why did you exert yourself getting to our flat?"

Molly looked away, out at the window again. "I. . . Never mind that." The way her blush looked, gathered up in the balls of her cheeks, made Sherlock lose his train of thought.

Sherlock once again had to shove hard at his mind palace walls and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Molly to trail behind him. Sherlock showed her the living room, gesturing to the pastel colors.

"This room is a little bit more welcoming." Sherlock said off-handedly, collapsing on one of the armchairs. Molly took a spot on the couch and Sherlock eyed her, his face half hidden by one of the arms. "Wouldn't you say so?"

Molly nodded and her face was glowing again. For some reason, she seemed enthralled with the idea of being shown around their flat. Sherlock watched Molly as she gazed around the living room, and then he asked himself, _Why does she act like she's never here?_

"You don't come here often, do you?" Sherlock asked, hearing the interest in his voice. Molly shook her head, brown hair flying, and Sherlock took a moment to watch her hair fall back in place gracefully.

"Not as much as I'd like." Molly murmured and then she gasped quietly, her big dark brown eyes flying wide with what she had said. She quickly tried to move on as if she hadn't said words that made a second pang of warm shoot through Sherlock. "I-I mean, Mrs. Hudson is so nice. Like Grandma. She reminds me of her."

"I could see how." Sherlock smiled, and it fell onto his lips, making them form a double curve that wasn't nearly as beautiful as Molly's.

"Mhm." Molly hummed awkwardly and then Sherlock looked at Molly, seeing her run her tongue nervously over her lips. Molly was on edge today.

"Everything all right, Dr. Hooper?" Sherlock asked, and he admired the way he said her name, mixing it with her 'doctor' status. Sometimes he called her Dr. Hooper, or Dr. Molly Hooper, or even Molly Hooper, or even Ms. Hooper. And then, of course, there was just simple, beautiful Molly. . .

"Everything's fine." Molly said defensively, making Sherlock's eyebrows move without his consent. Sherlock lowered his left eyebrow, the one that arched more than his right, and Molly flustered when she finally found the clock in the living room. "Didn't you ask me for help?"

"What was that?" Sherlock was still looking at her lips.

"With Lestrade." Molly said, and Sherlock nearly frowned when the atmosphere in the room soured with the idea of working. "You asked me to come over."

"I do recall doing such a thing." Sherlock said absently and he climbed off of the armchair, going back to the kitchen. "More water, Ms. Hooper?"

"No, thank you." Molly called from where she sat. Sherlock grunted when he tugged the refrigerator open and poured a cup of water for himself. Sherlock inspected Molly's tea cup on the countertop and he scooped it up by the handle, inspecting the rim.

No lipstick stains. Perhaps Molly was staying home the entire night. If she had arrived dressed up and looking ethereal, Sherlock would have had a slight problem. His daydreams would have consisted of beating the hell out of some poor man, instead of what they consisted of now.

Sherlock swallowed the rest of his water and walked back into the living room, reluctant and eager to show Molly Hooper his room.

"The object I am having difficulty with is in my room." Sherlock said and Molly looked up at him from the clock. She hopped off of the couch and followed Sherlock into his room.

The door closed behind them, and the two of them didn't hear the kettle start to scream, announcing that the tea had finally boiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Watson yanked himself off of his bed, running out of the room and down the hall into the kitchen. He turned off the stove with a flip of a switch and pulled on a mitt, grabbing a tea cup out of the counter. Watson's eyes spotted the two tea cups on the counter and he looked down the hall, at the wall that concealed Sherlock's room.

Why was Molly in Sherlock's room?

Watson was jolted back into reality when he heard a sizzling sound. Watson refrained from jumping and only sat the hot kettle on a dry, cold burner. He had been pouring the water, missing the cup entirely, on the still-hot burner that had heated the water. Watson scowled at himself and began to search for dishcloth.

He found one on the rail of the oven and began to mop up the hot water, hissing when his fingers touched the near-boiling water that threatened to sear the poor tabletop.

He heard a cry from Sherlock's room and Watson turned, almost jolted into running to Sherlock's room. Watson stopped himself and made himself take a deep breath, telling himself that Sherlock was thinking aloud.

Watson turned back to the water and pulled out the sugar from the pantry. July or not, Watson always had a cup of tea around seven thirty. Watson was surprised that Molly was still at their flat. She had said she needed to go around nine, but maybe she wasn't going anywhere and wanted to retire early.

Watson put an ice cube in his tea, slightly impatient and made himself a quick meal of porridge, reminding himself to cook early tomorrow so he wouldn't have to eat porridge for dinner. It had been the third night that week that he and Sherlock feasted on porridge. Maybe Mrs. Hudson would cook, as the cold months were going to arrive quicker than anyone ever thought. Mrs. Hudson always made such good soup.

Watson jumped when he heard another cry and lukewarm tea spilled on his shirt. Watson momentarily looked up at the sky and thanked whoever was up there that he had taken his sweater off. Watson set his tea on the counter and began to make his way to Sherlock's room.

Watson paused in front of the door and thought to why he had walked in on the kettle boiling. Why hadn't Sherlock told him the tea had boiled?

"Sherlock?" Watson knocked rather loudly, cringing at the thoughts that ran through his mind. Watson couldn't tell who had made that cry, but what if Molly and Sherlock were-

"Yes?" Sherlock opened the door before Watson could let his mind run any farther. Sherlock opened the door wider and Watson took a step into Sherlock's room. "Yes, Watson?"

"I was just wondering what was going on." Watson's eyes quickly inspected the room. Holly was standing by Sherlock's tidy desk, looking over the papers that covered the tabletop. She held some in her hand, reading them silently to herself.

"Everything's fine." Sherlock said, and Watson heard a sour tone in Sherlock's voice.

"It doesn't sound fine." Watson said warily and looked at Molly, who looked up as if she had just noticed Watson had walked into the room, her dark brown eyes wide with surprise. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing is." Sherlock said tightly and Molly opened her mouth to speak.

"I apologize, Sherlock. I really am sorry." Molly said hurriedly and Sherlock shook his head.

"Everything's fine, Molly." Sherlock said, ignoring her apology. What was she apologizing for? "I understand completely."

"But I-" Molly started.

"Molly Hooper!" Sherlock reprimanded and Molly shrunk, going quieter than a mouse. "I said it was fine."

This was more like the Sherlock Watson remembered. Watson crossed his arms, ready to jump on Sherlock.

"Sher-"

"Molly," Sherlock said her name again and looked at her in such a way that made Watson feel puzzled. "It's just fine." He said, and his hand, still on the door, went out to Molly as if he was going to grab her hand or something similar to that. However, Sherlock's hand fell to his side and Sherlock only shook his head.

Sherlock turned back to Watson, who had been watching the exchange, confused, and began to herd him out of the room. "Give us two minutes." Sherlock said quickly, and then the door was closed in Watson's face.

Watson opened his mouth and closed it again, his hand once again rubbing his head in confusion. Watson shrugged to himself and went back to his tea, thinking to the next few days where he'd have to follow Molly around. He didn't like to do it, but Watson had noticed a change in Sherlock's behavior a while ago. Sherlock seemed less rude to Molly and more thoughtful around her. What was going on between them? So, to find out, Watson followed Molly as she left for lunch, waiting for Sherlock to pop out of nowhere and take her into a diner. Watson wanted it to happen, but he didn't want her to get hurt.

So he hovered around Molly, treating her like a little sister, sticking up for her when Sherlock was at his rudest, and making sure Molly didn't put her foot in her mouth. Watson wanted the two of them together, partly because he was tired of the confusion between his relationship with Sherlock, and because Molly was such a sweet girl and Sherlock was sarcastic. They evened each other out, and while Molly had her moments and Sherlock had his, their personalities complimented each other.

Besides, Watson wanted to see the two of them in the newlywed phase that often started with a blossoming relationship. He wanted to see them hold hands and run off to diners and he wanted to see Sherlock buy Molly roses and he wanted to see Molly buy Sherlock ties and belts and. . .

While none of that could happen for Watson, Watson wanted to see it happen to his flat mate, to his friend. Watson wanted to see what love looked like. Molly had a crush on Sherlock. Watson wanted to see if Sherlock had a crush on Molly, if he fancied her.

Watson wanted to see Sherlock fall in love.

Watson was jolted out of his thoughts when his tea cup ran dry at the same moment he heard Sherlock's door creak open. Sherlock complained loudly.

"I thought that was fixed." Sherlock began to apologize for no apparent reason. "Sorry, Molly."

"Why don't you grease it down with oil? It'll open more quietly." Molly suggested. Watson heard their foot-falls, though Sherlock's were heavier than Molly's, grow louder as they neared the kitchen.

"I'll try that." Sherlock said, sounding impressed. In front of Watson, Sherlock and Molly stopped. Sherlock gazed at Molly with no sort of facial expression. "Thank you for stopping by."

Molly nodded and then she smiled. "Thank you for the tour, and for the water, and for. . . Thank you." Molly finished awkwardly, sweetly. Watson heard Sherlock give a soft sigh and then he nodded quickly, and his hand went to the front door of their flat.

"Let me walk you out." Sherlock said, and Molly turned to the kitchen to wave at Watson, letting him know that she was aware of his presence, and Watson waved back quickly; Molly walked through the open door and Sherlock gave Watson a look, before closing the door behind them.

Watson stood in the flat's kitchen, and though it was a Friday, Watson knew he had to follow Molly around tomorrow. The girl usually made herself work on Saturdays for reasons Watson didn't know. He could catch her on her lunch break.

Watson washed the three tea cups and thought to his blog, planning to add more to the day's events he had already written down.

* * *

Sherlock turned to Molly, standing in front of the door that led out of their flat. "Have a good evening, Molly."

Molly shook her head, still angry with herself. "I wish I could help you."

"It's fine," Sherlock had to stop himself from saying the word 'darling' at the end of his sentence. Molly began to shake her head again, but Sherlock repeated himself, sounding a bit more harsh. "It's fine, Molly."

Molly sighed and nodded, finally. "Okay, if you say so."

Sherlock watched as Molly looked around the street and discomfort made her eyebrows lower and her eyes darken. "What is it, Molly?"

Molly looked up, brushing it off. "Nothing."

"Tell me." Sherlock persisted and leaned down to get eye-level with her. "Is everything all right? You seemed ready to run off to your flat today."

Molly looked full of chagrin, her cheeks turning red. "Did I? Well. . . It's just, um. . . I've got someone following me around."

Alarm filled Sherlock. "Who?"

Molly shrugged, looking slightly afraid. "I don't know who it is. They started following me around a month ago."

Anger made Sherlock's pale blue eyes narrow. "Is it an American? I've had to restore balance to the universe before, Molly. I can do it again."

Molly giggled once, but was otherwise very serious. "I don't know who it is, Sherlock."

"Hm." Sherlock's mind was preoccupied with this, and he welcomed the distraction, letting it become paste and repair the walls of his ruined mind palace. "I'll find out who it is." Understanding rushed over Sherlock. "Is this why you haven't been walking home, or I could assume so? I've seen the way you look at the diners' tea signs, Molly. Like you can't afford it." Sherlock leaned in, worried for Molly. "I can give you money, if you need it."

Molly shook her head quickly, refusing. "No! I-I'm fine. I don't need your money."

"It'd be a gift." Sherlock said softly and Molly shook her head.

"No, I'm fine." Molly said more firmly and Sherlock let up. "But, um. . ."

"What is it?" Sherlock asked and his pale blue eyes gazed at Molly's dark brown eyes that were clouded with indecision.

"Um. . ."

Sherlock had to remind himself that he was talking to a very important woman. He coaxed her politely, "Come on, Dr. Hooper. What is it?"

Molly stammered for a moment, and then said, "Could you come with me? Home? And, um, walk me in?"

Sherlock felt a sense of gratitude and honor rush over him. She wanted him to walk her home? She wanted him in her presence a little while longer?

"Molly, I-" Sherlock was ready to say 'yes' and then he thought to what Lestrade had asked him for, the work Molly hadn't been able to assist him with. "I. . . I can't. Not tonight, I'm afraid."

Molly nodded, saddened, and Sherlock wanted to make it up to her instantly. "How about coffee tomorrow?"

Molly's eyes lit up, not as brightly as when he had offered her a tour of the flat but bright enough to get his heart pumping quicker in his chest, and she nodded fiercely, bouncing up and down for a moment. She composed herself and still nodded, her eyes sparkling.

"That would be wonderful, Sherlock." Molly hummed and Sherlock smiled, the smile going to his face. Molly's eyes grew remote as she gazed at the smile on Sherlock's face, and it slowly disappeared as Sherlock realized he'd have to wait several hours before he could see the beautiful Molly Hooper again.

Sherlock gazed at Molly and asked, before the silence lasted too long and he grew sad, "Do you have enough for a taxi?"

Molly nodded, the sparkles leaving her eyes as she realized the same did Sherlock did: that they were going to part ways; Sherlock turned to the street, well-versed on how to flag down a taxi. Though it was well past six o'clock now, the streets were busy with personal cars and taxis alike. One taxi quickly found its way to Molly and Sherlock, and Sherlock was disappointed that his evening with Molly Hooper was at its end.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." Molly said, shyly, sadly, and looked down at her rain boots. Sherlock said nothing, only gently grabbed her right hand with his left.

Molly looked up sharply as Sherlock brought it to his lips. Sherlock smiled at her, a bright, small smile, and gently kissed the top of her smooth, soft hand.

"Goodbye, Molly Hooper." Sherlock said the words, saying it the same way he had once said, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper".

Sherlock closed his eyes when his lips made contact with her skin. The way her hand felt to his lips. . .

Molly blushed and before she could say anything, the taxi driver honked once. Molly and Sherlock jumped out of their thoughts. Molly flustered and said, "Coffee tomorrow?"

Like he would cancel on her, _the absurd thought_. "Of course." Sherlock went to the taxi door and held it open for Molly. "Does eleven o'clock sound good?"

"Eleven's too late." Molly said, and then she frowned, her hand going to her forehead. "How about lunch instead?"

Sherlock smiled. They would have to wait longer, but they would have more time together. "All right, Ms. Hooper. Where?"

"I'll call you." Molly said, and the shaky confidence in her voice was adorable. Sherlock smiled and closed the door, lightly hitting the hood of the taxi. The taxi sped off, carrying the lovely Molly Hooper away.

Sherlock watched the taxi go, and told himself to look forward to tomorrow and not count the hours without her.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Sherlock listened to Molly's voice, softly telling him where to meet her. "Sherlock," she said in the recording. Sherlock sighed softly and listened for the five times she said his name. "Sherlock. . . Sherlock. . ."

Her voice was hypnotizing. As Sherlock's fingers groped for the replay button, he heard Watson call him from the kitchen. "Yes?" Sherlock called back, putting down the receiver.

"I said, 'where are you going today?'." Watson said loudly. Sighing quietly, Sherlock left the telephone and walked into the kitchen, confused to see Watson cooking a break feast for two of eggs, porridge, and bacon.

"Out and about." Sherlock said, answering vaguely. He knew better than to tell Watson who he would be eating lunch with. Sherlock got out two plates and said, "Thank you for making break feast."

"Yes, well," Watson said, and though his back was to Sherlock, Sherlock heard Watson's voice bubbling with gratitude. How odd. Sherlock needed to praise Watson more.

After break feast, Sherlock found himself wandering the piles of paperwork on his desk. Sherlock had stayed up rather late trying to finish the remnants of Lestrade's case. It had taken him a while to complete. July's warm weather led Sherlock outside and away from the case. After Lestrade's urgent pushing, Sherlock had made himself sit down and finish the case. Sherlock would have enjoyed it more if Molly Hooper had been able to help him, but she couldn't because of her job's requirements.

Sherlock had waved her away, trying to be gentle. He was irritated that he hadn't been able to enjoy her company while faced with such a task, but he had never been angry with the lovely Molly Hooper.

Sherlock thought of all of this while he packed up the case. He would have to drop it off at the station before meeting Molly for lunch. She had said around two o'clock in the voice mail she had left for him.

After calling a hasty 'goodbye' to Watson, Sherlock stopped by Mrs. Hudson's on the way out of the flat. He looked at the kind elderly woman. Mrs. Hudson gazed at him, wide awake as she often was at this early hour.

"Good morning, Sherlock!" She crooned and he nodded at her.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson." He greeted her and she ushered him inside. Sherlock looked around at her wonderfully decorated flat and let her guide him to the kitchen table.

"What brings you here?" Mrs. Hudson asked him and handed him a cup of tea. Sherlock sipped it and debated on how to answer. "Is it about Miss Hooper or Mr. Watson?" Mrs. Hudson didn't know it but she had given him a way to reply.

"It's about the two of them." Sherlock answered honestly. Mrs. Hudson's light eyes went to him in curiosity. "I'm having a problem with them."

Mrs. Hudson seemed slightly impatient. "Tell me, Sherlock. What's the matter?"

Unused to being pushed to speak, Sherlock fumbled to make a coherent reply. "I, well, I. . ."

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson demanded and Sherlock forgot to be tactful. The words exploded from his chest and lingered in the air that smelled of fresh flowers and coffee.

"I've fallen for Molly." Sherlock said abruptly. Mrs. Hudson's mouth fell open in surprise and she looked down at her cup of tea. Mrs. Hudson always had tea, rain or shine. It didn't matter what season it was.

So Sherlock was astonished when she stood up from the table and poured her tea into the sink. "Mrs. Hudson!"

"Hm?" Mrs. Hudson hummed, looking away from the sink and at him, like he had disturbed her. "What is it?"

Confused, Sherlock pointed to her now empty tea cup. "Weren't you going to drink that?"

"No, dear," Mrs. Hudson said and then she disappeared into her room with a stern, "Don't move from that chair or I'll skin you alive."

Daunted, Sherlock remained seated. His mind spun in worried circles and he looked at his mind palace, scrambling for some way to repair it. He had realized one of his darkest secrets to an elderly woman. Who was to say that it wouldn't come out by mistake? Sherlock didn't know Mrs. Hudson to be forgetful but-

"Come on." Mrs. Hudson reappeared in the kitchen, dressed in a dress suit. She rolled up the sleeves and fumbled with the clasp of her heels. She took a seat by Sherlock and began to speak. "You've got to impress her, Sherlock. We'll buy her flowers."

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock protested, "I'm having lunch with her in an hour. I don't have time to buy flowers." A thought struck him. "I have to drop off Lestrade's case."

Mrs. Hudson didn't bat an eye. "We'll do it on the way. You know Lila's is next to Lestrade's."

Sherlock couldn't find another way to deter her. "All right then." He said and clutched the folder closer to his chest as if to protect it. "But what about Watson?"

Mrs. Hudson led the way to the door. "We don't want him to know, now do we?"

"That's the other problem." Sherlock said and a sudden rush of anxiety made him grit his teeth.

"He won't know." Mrs. Hudson said sincerely, sensing his distress. She locked her flat and Sherlock led the way out of the flat and into the bright sun.

"How are you sure?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't usually so nervous about the thought of meeting Molly. He was hardly nervous about anything.

Mrs. Hudson turned and winked at him, her lips pulled up into a smile. "He won't." She said again, firmly. "It'll be our secret."

* * *

Sherlock found himself in Lila's shop with Mrs. Hudson twenty minutes later. He stared at the clock on the pastel gray wall, worried. It was going to be two o'clock in twenty minutes.

Mrs. Hudson looked at the flowers Lila was holding. "Let's see. What've we got, Lila?"

Lila smiled and her blue eyes appraised the bouquet of flowers. "If he's willing to carry all of these, we'll be just fine."

Mrs. Hudson looked at the flowers and then at Sherlock, arching a questioning eyebrow. Sherlock nodded once hurriedly, impatience and nervousness making him pace a desolate aisle.

"Who are these for anyway?" Lila asked and Sherlock felt her questioning eyes on him. "Sherlock, you've settled down?"

Unsure how to answer, Sherlock turned to his wits. He turned to Lila and said coyly, almost shy, "Only for a bit."

Lila smiled, seeing through his words, and began to explain the flowers to Mrs. Hudson. "We've got lilacs, periwinkles, celandine, and one red rose."

Sherlock smiled, his impatience gone for a moment. "That's a lovely message." Sherlock said and Lila and Mrs. Hudson looked shocked. "I understand flowers speak their own tongue. It's lovely, Lila."

Lila blushed and once again, Sherlock wondered why praise from him seemed so surprising. Lila looked at Mrs. Hudson and then to Sherlock, her cheeks a delicate pink. "What do you think?"

"Could we get one more rose?" Sherlock asked and Mrs. Hudson's eyes lit up. She clearly understood flowers as well.

Lila nodded and went to fetch the second rose. Mrs. Hudson darted to Sherlock's side, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. "Mutual feelings, Sherlock?"

Sherlock felt his cheeks begin to warm. "I believed she's liked me for quite some time." He said shyly, "It's time for her to. . . Know that I feel the same way."

Mrs. Hudson made a squeal of happiness and she thanked Lila generously when Lila came back with the flowers. Sherlock left Lila a tip and he followed Mrs. Hudson out of the florist shop.

"Where are you eating?" Mrs. Hudson asked him and Sherlock glanced at her. He named a fairly expensive restaurant and Mrs. Hudson nodded, "That would be fine. Does she eat there?"

"No. It'll be a surprise." Sherlock said and Mrs. Hudson put a hand on his chest to stop him. She gazed at him and her hand stretched up to take something out of his hair. Sherlock smiled, "Mrs. Hudson, I believe you became a grandmother just now."

"Oh, hush," Mrs. Hudson said fondly, concentration of her face. She pulled down at Sherlock's trench coat and took his hands from his pockets. She put his fingers around the flowers and closed them around the stems. "Be sweet to her, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded sincerely. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

Mrs. Hudson smiled kindly at him. "You're welcome, dear."

She turned him around and as he began walking, she called after him. "Don't let her get away!"

Sherlock glanced back at her and waved his hand, taking a moment to smile brightly. Mrs. Hudson was an angel. He turned back and kept walking to where he and Molly were supposed to meet.

He sat down on a bench and before long, someone squeaked. He looked up and saw Molly Hooper standing before him. Her eyes were sparkling and they looked at the flowers in his hand.

"Hello, Molly." Sherlock said quickly, warmly, and he stood up, the flowers tight in his grip.

Molly looked at him, her eyes aglow, and they began to shine when she saw the flowers. Sherlock smiled and he held them out to her, "These are for you, Molly."

Molly's hands shook as she took the flowers and Sherlock could see her eyes reading what the flowers whispered to her.

Feeling light as air when she looked up from the two roses to smile angelically at him, Sherlock resisted the urge to take her hand and only said happily.

"I believe it's time for our lunch."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"These are really pretty, Sherlock," Molly said beside Sherlock's side. The two were walking to the restaurant Sherlock had reserved for their lunch. Molly didn't know where they were eating and he liked it that way. He wanted to surprise her.

"I'm glad you like them." He said, taking his eyes away from the bright sun that shone on his face.

If Molly was really out of money trying to avoid her stalker, she would hardly be able to try to pay. Which meant Sherlock could insist. . .

That she pay next time.

The thought of a second lunch with the beautiful young woman next to him made him smile, his heart flushing with unusual warmth. Their hands bumped and Sherlock tried not to draw his away as another warm thought made the bright sun shining on his face feel warmer.

Molly would never pay for their lunches.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked and Sherlock glanced at her, decided against it, and stopped walking, giving his undivided attention to her. Molly was dressed nicely for a casual lunch. She had left her coat at the station, and she stood in front of him donned in a short sleeve white shirt with horizontal silvery gray stripes. She wore her rain boots again and the bright blue flowers matched the blue headband she had on.

"Yes, Molly?" Sherlock asked, his eyes going to hers. He stood dressed in his trench coat, he always wore it, regardless of the weather, and he put his hands in his pockets subconsciously.

"Um, where are we going?" Molly asked and she gestured to the right of them, toward diners and other little shops London had to offer. "We've passed all sorts of delis and I look at you, waiting for you to walk into one, and you walk past it."

Sherlock felt a smile try to twist his lips and he let it. "It's a surprise, Molly." It wouldn't be for long. The restaurant was up ahead, two minutes away.

Molly smiled tightly and Sherlock felt her mood change. "What's the matter, Molly?" _Restaurant reservation be damned._ "We can pick any of these." He said generously and put one hand on her shoulder to turn her toward the delis. "Pick one."

Molly shook her head quickly, her brown hair flying. Sherlock felt her hair brush against his hand on her shoulder and he was amazed when he realized that it felt like silk.

"Sorry, Sherlock." Molly apologized, "I want to go where you've chosen." She said and her strained tone made Sherlock look at her more closely. She was biting her lip. "I'm just worried that, um, we might be tailed. . ."

_Her stalker._ Sherlock remembered and then he cursed himself. If someone was following her, why would he make her walk the entire way to the restaurant? He swallowed a bitter seed of aggravated irritation –with himself- and said, "Here, we'll catch a cab."

"No, no!" Molly cried and then she pulled away from him with one step, leaning forward and grabbing his hand in seamlessly. Sherlock was confused at her gracefulness and let her tug him for a few steps. _Had Molly been a dancer in a previous life?_ He mused. _Molly is usually clumsy and now she just pulled a Beryl Grey._

Sherlock realized that Molly was holding his hand and his heart jumped. He took a long stride to catch up with the energized Molly and then they were walking together, side by side.

Holding hands.

A long moment later, Molly seemed to realize this and she dropped Sherlock's hand. "Sorry, Sherlock."

"That's all right, Molly." Sherlock said and he grabbed her hand again, smiling softly at her surprised gasp. "Maybe that stalker, I'll assume he's American, will leave you alone if he sees me with you."

Molly turned a pretty shade of pink. "Um. . . Okay."

Sherlock looked at her, turning his head. "Okay?"

"I mean, um, sure." Molly said quickly and he squeezed her hand, smiling when her blush deepened. "But, um. . . Do we have to hold hands?" Something in her seemed reluctant.

"We don't." Sherlock said honestly, regretfully. "Only if you want to."

Molly seemed to weigh Sherlock's words in her mind and her hand slipped from his. "Only if I want to?"

"Any time." Sherlock said and something in Molly's eyes lit up. She looked down at the bouquet in her other hand and Sherlock wanted to tilt her chin up so she could look at him with those soulful doe eyes.

Sherlock looked around, and then grabbed Molly's hand again. "We're here."

When she pulled away again, her eyes downcast and feet clad in boots shuffling, Sherlock pretended not to notice. He led the way into the restaurant and grinned when he heard her gasp once more. He turned around when she spoke, her voice airy.

"We're eating here?" Molly asked, eyes sparkling once more, and Sherlock nodded.

"Only the finest food for you." His mouth spoke without his permission. He turned to the waiting waiter who held out menus. Sherlock handed Molly one. "Would you like to find us a table?"

Molly's eyes glowed and she nodded eagerly. She grabbed his hand, which surprised him, and pulled him toward the tables by the windows.

"Come on, Sherlock!" Her voice, high-pitched with excitement, made him wish for five more roses. Five roses plus two roses equaled seven roses.

Seven roses said, "I'm infatuated with you."

Which was another way of saying Sherlock never wanted to see Molly unhappy.

Which was another way of saying he loved her.

* * *

Watson was too far away to hear what she was saying. Watson squinted and he took a step forward, leaving the bench he had sat on. He took a few cautious steps to Molly and her friend, almost leaning forward.

A young man, no more than twenty, bumped into him on the way to the crosswalk. "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry."

When Watson didn't look away, the man followed his gaze. "Is that your girl? Is she cheating on you?"

Watson turned to him and shook his head. "That's my little sister." Watson fumbled 'little sister'.

The man nodded, amused. "That her man?"

Watson shrugged. "I'm too far away to tell." He said and the man looked at him, amusement lightening up his dark eyes.

"She doesn't know you're watching her." He realized in a happy rush and he grinned, taking a step and standing next to Watson. "What are you going to do?"

"About what?" Watson asked, his eyes going back to Molly.

"About her man? Why are you watching her?"

"I haven't met him." The man _ah_ed in understanding. "I want to see if he's nice."

The man nodded and they both looked back at Molly. The man handed her a bouquet of flowers Watson couldn't identify and the man beside him smiled. "That's a good sign."

"I suppose so." Watson said and then the man peered at Molly.

"If the night goes poorly, can I have a go?" He asked and Watson turned to him, incredulous. The man raised his hands up in defense. "It's just a question."

Watson tried to make himself smile. "Hm. Maybe. What's your name?"

"Daniel." The man said and Watson looked back at Molly. He didn't want to admit it but he could easily see Molly and Daniel together. They had the same brown eyes and cheekbones.

"I'll see you around, I guess." Daniel said, and handed him his number on a scrap of paper. He gestured to Molly who had begun walking. "They're on the move. You might want to keep up."

"Thanks." Watson said and his eyes went to Molly's and the man's back.

Watson took a few more quick steps forward and then he froze.

Was that man wearing Sherlock's trench coat?


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"So, um, Sherlock?" Molly's voice made Sherlock look away from the waiters maneuvering their way past them. Sherlock smiled, the little thing was very small, at Molly. Sometimes she, and Watson, seemed to be taken aback when they saw Sherlock smile. He liked the sparkles that flared in her eyes when he smiled at her.

"Yes, Molly?" Sherlock asked and Molly began to talk, her words tripping over themselves.

"Well, um, I know we're having lunch, but, um, is there something you want to talk about?" She asked, her thoughts clearly scrambled by his smile that grew bigger. She was adorable when she was trying to be serious.

"No," Sherlock answered her, and a feeling of confusion made him lean forward. "Do you have something you want to talk about?"

Molly nodded once and Sherlock waited patiently, watching her seriousness finally take hold of her. It darkened her eyes and lowered her eyebrows. Whatever it was, it was serious as Sherlock had never seen Molly's face –or eyes for that matter- so dark.

The tiny smile fell from Sherlock's face and he waited, his eyes going to the waiters that danced around their table. Sherlock's pale blue eyes went back to Molly and her concentrated silence made him grow anxious. Was she not having a good time?

"Er, Molly?" Sherlock asked and she looked up at him from gazing down at her napkin. "How about a glass of wine first?" She looked edgy, nervous and anxious. She nodded, almost eagerly, and then Sherlock knew that something was very wrong.

He hadn't been around Molly much, but he didn't know the lovely girl to drink, wine or champagne.

He called a waiter who nodded at his request, and within moments, there were two wine glasses, almost full to the brim, with red wine. Molly sipped hers and Sherlock had to take a few gulps. She made him feel all sorts of warm emotions, but this one was cold and chilling. What was she going to say?

"Sherlock," Molly finally started and Sherlock turned to her, the glass still in his hand. He set it down on the table and Molly tried to go on, taking another sip of her red wine. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. . . For quite some time and I-"

Poor Molly was interrupted when their food arrived. Sherlock gave him an apologetic glance and gratefully helped the waiters set the food on the table. Molly pressed her lips together and started eating. She looked reluctant now, and slightly regretful.

"Molly?" Sherlock asked her and she looked up from her food, her eyes darker than before. What was she going to say that made her look so sad?

"Yes, Sherlock?" Her voice trembled when she said his name. Sherlock gazed at Molly, gazing into her dark eyes, and he was saddened to see them beginning to shine. She was about to cry.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked and Molly nodded too quickly. She began to eat again and Sherlock tried to do the same.

Moments before he was done eating, Molly excused herself to go to the restroom. Sherlock waited for her patiently and he wondered if he had done something wrong.

Was she crying because of him?

* * *

"Let's catch a cab." Sherlock suggested gruffly, his voice raw from guilt. He didn't know what to feel guilty for. Maybe the food was terrible and gave her cramps that made her eyes water? _I don't know what went wrong_, Sherlock worried.

"All right." Molly said and Sherlock flagged down one. The cab pulled up and Sherlock helped Molly inside, climbing in after her. They sat a few inches apart and Sherlock didn't know what to say.

"I, um," Molly said when the cab pulled up to her flat. "I had a good time."

_Did you?_ Sherlock resisted the urge to ask. He helped Molly out of the cab and paid the cab driver a tip. The cab driver waved and Sherlock turned to Molly.

The air was warm, almost humid, and Sherlock found himself wanting to take off his trench coat. He abandoned the thought and walked Molly up to her flat.

"Oh, Sherlock," Molly said sorrowfully, causing Sherlock to look at her again. "I've upset you, haven't I?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I. . . I just hoped you were having a good time."

"I did." Molly said without much conviction.

Sherlock shook his head again and hurt filled him. Whatever she had been upset over, it had happened on their lunch, when he was with her. He upset her, he was sure of it. But how? Had he said something? How could he try this again and hope for different, happier results?

"Sherlock," Molly pleaded and Sherlock turned to her, feeling his own eyes begin to sting.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked and he blinked hard. The air was too warm for the sting in his eyes. He swallowed hard.

Molly looked at him, sorrow in her still-dark eyes, and then gestured to the flat. "Come in with me?" She asked and despite the sting in his eyes, Sherlock found himself admiring the height of her cheekbones. London was gloomy, yet somehow illuminated with the orange sunset. It had sprinkled while they had been eating and the buildings glistened with small crystal droplets.

Sherlock was a little shocked at her request and nodded, mute. Molly sucked in a breath when she turned away and she went to unlock the flat. Sherlock followed her inside and Molly looked around, apologetic.

"Sorry, I've forgotten how to stay tidy." Her apology was wrong. Her flat was very clean, far more tidy that his flat with Watson. The walls were a nice beige and the furniture was a dark brown. Cream vases held flowers of all sorts and when he followed her into the kitchen, he found that she had smooth, marble counters and the tile floor underneath him was splotched with blue, the same blue on her rainboots.

"Hardly what I was going to say." Sherlock said and Molly hummed in pleasure. "I assume you remodeled your flat?"

"I did, and had fun too. Which is funny because no one likes to remodel." Molly said and Sherlock smiled. She fetched him a cup of water and Sherlock sipped, chasing the aftertaste of the red wine away.

"Sorry about today." She said suddenly and Sherlock looked at her.

"It's all right." He was still puzzled by it. "What was it that upset you? You never told me."

Molly waved it off, shaking her head slightly. "It doesn't. . . Maybe later, I suppose." She said undecidedly.

Sherlock nodded, saddened by the delay of what seemed to be sad news, and looked around her flat. Molly's brown eyes followed his and she blushed when she found his eyes on her. Even standing against a kitchen counter, Molly Hooper looked beautiful.

"Well, Molly," Sherlock said and looked at her. "I guess the only remedy for this would be-"

"A walk." Molly interrupted him. She smiled though it didn't reach her eyes, which were still very dark. "How about the day after tomorrow?"

Sherlock smiled and instead of looking surprised by his smile, her eyes found his lips and her face grew cloudy with sorrow. Her sad face made his smile disappear. "The day after tomorrow then."

"Same place?" Molly asked.

Sherlock nodded and set the cup on the counter, his shoulder brushing hers as he tried not to look at her. "Indeed."

"Sherlock?" Molly asked on his way out. "Are you okay?"

"Just fine." Sherlock closed the door on his way out.

* * *

"Where were you today?" Watson asked Sherlock, looking hard at his trench coat. He had been too far away from Molly to see her partner but now he was sure the man had been Sherlock. He walked the same, only the thing was that at some point, the two had held hands.

Which had made Watson very happy, and also confused. If they had been doing this a while, why didn't they tell him they were this serious?

"Out and about." Sherlock looked gloomy.

"What's the matter?" Watson looked back down on his blog and then back at Sherlock. While Sherlock was never the happiest looking man, he never seemed gloomy.

"Nothing, Watson." Sherlock said and then he sighed. "Love is elementary."

Watson gasped. "Hardly!"

"Then why do I feel like a child lusting after something he can't have?" Sherlock asked and then closed the door when he went into his room, not calling 'goodnight'.

Watson stared after Sherlock and looked down at his blog.

_Sherlock and Molly_, he had written, _who would have thought? I'm going to their wedding, invitation or not and I'm holding their child first._

What was Sherlock talking about? Had Molly said something? Watson had lost the two of them after they had climbed into the cab as he hadn't been able to follow them into the restaurant. He had sat outside a nearby deli across the street and watched them through the window.

He had seen Molly leave the table and Sherlock put his head in his hands. Had something gone wrong between them?

Watson looked back down at his blog from Sherlock's closed door and began to write.

_Sherlock says love is elementary. Love has no age._

Watson looked back at the door between him and Sherlock.

_Why does Sherlock suddenly seem old, as if love has aged him?_ The thought of Sherlock alone made Watson feel sympathy for him.

_Sherlock needs Molly and Molly needs him. Nothing is elementary about that._

Watson quickly made up his mind. He was going to talk to Molly tomorrow somehow without blowing his cover.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Watson went to the telephone, picking it up. "Hello?"

Sherlock had been quiet the whole morning. Watson had no idea what Molly could have said yesterday that made Sherlock so upset. The sound of Molly's voice on the phone made Watson jump.

"Oh, Watson," Molly hummed, "it's you."

Watson whispered into the phone even though he knew Sherlock wasn't in the flat. "Are you looking for Sherlock?"

"N-No." Molly said unsurely and then she sighed. "Sorry to bother you, but, um, can I ask you something?"

Watson nodded. "Sure, Molly." He said and then thought to what he had planned to do today. "I was actually going to try to come see you."

"Oh, no need to do that." Molly said in a peculiar tone.

"Okay. . ." Watson said in confusion and then he said, "Well, what did you want to ask me?"

"Well. . ." Molly's voice trailed off. "You see. . . Sherlock and I went to lunch yesterday."

Watson resisted the urge to say, "I know," and only listened to Molly's soft voice. She was nervous and he could almost barely hear her.

"I tried to tell him something that I've been meaning to for a while." Molly said and then she moaned in actual pain. "I didn't have the heart to. Watson, you should have seen him yesterday." Molly agonized. "He was smiling and laughing and he bought me flowers and booked this _really_ nice reservation and I just couldn't!"

Watson tried to soothe her. "It's all right, Molly."

"No, it isn't." Molly protested and Watson heard her voice break. "I thought about what I was going to tell him, and I nearly cried at the table. And since I never told him what it was, he's going to be upset with me the next time I see him, I know it."

"Molly," Watson said into the phone, feeling his heart break at the sound of her voice. She was going to cry. "Sherlock won't be upset with you."

"But he will be once I tell him!" Molly cried. "Oh, Watson, don't you remember the way he used to be?"

_Don't I?_ Watson thought sourly back to the way Sherlock used to overlook Molly. That was why he started following her. He wanted to see them together but only if Sherlock was going to treat Molly like the beautiful young lady she was. He wasn't going to let Sherlock treat Molly the way he used to, whether the man was daydreaming about her or not. There was a line, and it made Watson happy to see that Sherlock hardly crossed it anymore.

"But he's different now." Watson said and Molly cried into the phone.

"I know, Watson, I know; he was so nice to me yesterday." Molly cried and Watson heard her sniffling. "I used to want to do anything and everything for him."

A feeling of dread churned in Watson's stomach. He knew what she was going to say.

"But I can't anymore." Molly said in remorse. "And I can't not want to do that for him. I care about him, Watson. I cared about him even when he was rude to me."

Watson tried to think of words to say but Molly kept going.

"And he's so sweet now." Molly sniffled. "I don't know what to do. I don't want him to be rude to me anymore, but I don't think he was ever rude to me. Sherlock was hardly ever affectionate but then he buys me flowers and I. . ."

Watson could see her problem. He suddenly wished that he was by Molly's side so he could give her a hug and tell her everything would be fine.

"Are you going to tell him?" Watson finally asked in the quiet. Molly was crying on her end of the phone and Watson sank down into a chair, racking his head for ways to put Sherlock and Molly together. _I could lock them in an abandoned flat and leave the lights out._

"I-I don't know." Watson heard her murmur. "We're supposed to be walking tomorrow."

Watson needed to follow her again, just to be there to see if Sherlock took it gently and didn't lose his temper.

"Maybe you should cancel," Watson advised, knowing she wouldn't. "Just until you get your head together."

"No," Molly sighed. "I'll figure something out, I think."

Watson didn't know what to say other than, "Call me if you need me, okay?"

"Okay." Molly said, sounding tearfully grateful. "Thank you for listening to me."

_Thank you for telling me about the walk._

"You're welcome, Molly."

* * *

Sherlock was confused when Watson handed him a number scribbled on some paper. "What is this?"

Watson looked at Sherlock and said, "Did Molly tell you?"

Sherlock thought to her stalker and then at the number in his hand. "About her stalker?"

Watson looked taken aback but only nodded. "His name's Daniel."

"Daniel." Sherlock looked at the number. He went to the telephone and dialed the number.

"Hello?" A man said on the other line.

"Hello, Daniel." Sherlock said and he saw Watson smile. "I believe you've been following a girl who is out of your league."

"Who?"

Sherlock looked at Watson who arched an eyebrow. Sherlock shook his head slightly and then he started, his voice steely.

"Leave that girl alone or I will follow you until the ends of the Earth and bash your head in with my fist. She is not yours and if you come within one thousand miles of her, you won't see another sunrise. Good day, sir." Sherlock hung up.

Watson started laughing and Sherlock joined in. Sherlock grinned as he put the number in his pocket. He hardly knew what Daniel looked like but Sherlock knew faces. If Daniel got within yards of Sherlock's sight, Sherlock would recognize him a year later.

"I think she'll feel safer now." Sherlock said aloud and for a moment, he wanted to call Molly and tell her the good news. Sherlock's mood soured at the thought of their last interactions and he found himself going to the kitchen, a dark cloud settling on his thoughts.

"Sherlock?" Watson asked and Sherlock looked at him, a frown on his face. Sherlock righted his lips to his poker face and arched one eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"Are you all right?"

Sherlock shrugged and then he sighed. "My mind palace is ruined."

Watson made a sympathetic expression appear on his face and asked. "How can you fix it?"

"God," Sherlock sighed at the thought, "I have no idea."

"Well, what destroyed it?" Watson asked, gesturing for Sherlock to sit at the kitchen table.

Sherlock thought to Molly, knowing he couldn't tell Watson, and only said. "Daydreaming."

Watson looked sad. "That's terrible. I'm sorry."

"Eh." Sherlock sighed in resignation. As far as he knew, the mind palace wasn't going to fix itself.

"What are you going to do about it?"

Sherlock eyed Watson. He was chatty today. "Not sure just yet. Maybe some Doctor Who will fix it."

Watson shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing, and looked around the flat. "Where are you going tomorrow?"

"Out." Sherlock said, thinking, almost disgruntled, to the walk he was going to take with Molly. He liked being in her presence but he never liked her sad and miserable. The walk was going to be interesting.

Watson gave Sherlock a skeptical look and Sherlock sighed. He left the table and went down to Mrs. Hudson's flat. He knocked on the door and smiled at her when she let him in.

"How did it go?" She asked him eagerly.

"It went fine." Sherlock said, "Until the food arrived."

"Did it make her sick?" Mrs. Hudson gasped and Sherlock shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest idea. She was going to tell me something, looking like a cat after an unwanted bath, and the food arrived. She never told me what she wanted to, and she's invited me on a walk tomorrow."

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock in dismay. "Oh, this won't do."

"I know." Sherlock sighed.

Mrs. Hudson went around, looking at her vases. "We'll get her more flowers."

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, saddened by her generosity. "It was hardly the flowers."

"You know what flowers say!" Mrs. Hudson cried and ignored him otherwise. "Flowers say what the mouth cannot."

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock went to her and grabbed her flying hands. "I appreciate your help, I really do."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and turned away. "I just want you to be happy, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled, though it broke his heart, at Mrs. Hudson's words. If he were to be honest, he'd never want anymore other than Molly Hooper.

"I appreciate your help." Sherlock repeated again and kissed her on the temple. Mrs. Hudson smiled softly though the smile died.

"What will you do?" Mrs. Hudson asked in her quiet flat.

She meant if he never had Molly by his side. She meant if they were never together.

"I don't know." Sherlock tried to speak lightly. "Maybe get a few cats."

"That's a lonely life." Mrs. Hudson sighed.

"It's a life without her. Of course it's lonely."

And with that, Sherlock gave Mrs. Hudson a quick hug and disappeared into his room, trying to think of words he could use that flowers couldn't say.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Sherlock sat on the bench, his pale blue eyes going around the street. Molly wanted to walk, but Sherlock didn't know where. He looked up when a hand tapped his shoulder.

"Hi." Molly said shyly. Her eyes were dark, Sherlock was beginning to think that the sparkles were gone forever, but she tried to smile at him. Sherlock stood up and he made himself smile invitingly.

"Hello, Molly."

Something in Molly seemed to flinch away and she turned away, beckoning him to follow her. They walked side by side, and the awkward silence was painful.

"What did you want to discuss?" Sherlock asked and then thought about it. "I mean, if you still want to-"

"I want to." Molly interrupted. Sherlock went quiet beside her and he was confused when Molly guided him to another bench. Molly sat down as did Sherlock.

Waiting for her to speak, Sherlock fiddled with his trench coat sleeves. It was too hot to wear a winter coat. Sherlock debated taking it off, and then Molly spoke.

"I can't do this."

Confusion made Sherlock look up at Molly. He felt like he understood her words in some way. "Do what?"

"I-I can't see you." Molly said and something in Sherlock began to hurt. He turned to her on the bench, leaning forward.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his emotions from filtering into his voice.

Molly had tears in her eyes and she turned her head away from him. "You used to be so rude to me."

_I was._ Sherlock admitted internally. He hadn't had any other way to hide his feelings from Watson or Molly. He regretted the way he treated her, but he had been unable to sort them out and had gone to negative interactions with her.

"And I used to want to do everything for you." Molly said to him, bitterness in her voice. "But I can't do that for you. I can't. . ."

Sherlock understood her words in an instant. She didn't want to be with him because of his past behavior. It was understandable. He didn't know how to make her want to stay with him.

Sherlock's voice shook. "I-If that's what you want-"

"Oh, but I don't!" Molly said and the tears spilled over. "I want to see you, all the time, every day. I just can't ignore the way you used to be."

"Molly," Sherlock said, his voice shaking harder. His hand reached for hers on her lap, and it hurt him when she drew away, sniffling.

Sherlock sucked in a harsh breath through his nose and his eyes roamed Molly's tear-stained face. She had lost sleep over this, over him. Remorse made him stand up and he had to turn away from her for a moment.

"Sherlock-"

"I'm all right!" Sherlock said quickly, fighting the urge to wipe his eyes. He sighed, looking up at the sky, and his fingers wiped away crystals from under his eyes. He turned back to her when he was sure his face was dry.

Molly's wet face made the tears try to start again. "Sherlock-"

"I-I'm fine." Sherlock said in a less sure voice than before. Sherlock took a step to her, he flinched when she squeezed herself into the back of the bench, and offered her his hand.

Sherlock had to turn his head away again when she stood up. "Do you want to walk some more?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"N-No." Molly said in an airy voice. He glimpsed her wiping her eyes in his peripheral vision. "I want to go home."

"Okay." Sherlock said simply and he flagged down a cab. As he waited for the cab to find them, his pale blue eyes watched Molly's light brown hair blow in the wind as she turned around, her eyes searching. "Everything all right?"

"I-I-" Molly's brown eyes found Sherlock's face. A surge of protectiveness made Sherlock's lips purse together. She looked worried, anxious.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked and Molly pointed.

"There he is!" She cried and took a step back. Sherlock looked where she had pointed and he glimpsed a man in a checkered sweater duck behind a street light.

Sherlock grew angry, beginning to walk toward the hiding man, when Molly grabbed his hand and tugged him back. She pushed him into the cab and climbed in, hurriedly giving the driver her address.

"Molly-"

"Shush, Sherlock!" Molly said, her lips shaking. Sherlock watched Molly's frightful eyes look through the dashboard behind them.

Sherlock focused on the man's appearance. He had wore a checkered sweater with black and blue. Sherlock only knew one man to wear sweaters in July, and he only knew one man who had _that_ particular sweater.

_Was that Watson?_

* * *

"Oh," Watson rubbed his pale cheeks. "Damn it all!"

Mrs. Hudson called up to Watson. "Language, dear!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson!" Watson called back down. Watson was sure that Sherlock had seen him.

Watson clomped down the stairs and looked at Mrs. Hudson, who held a cup of ice tea out to him. "They saw me."

Mrs. Hudson blinked. "Who saw you?"

"Sherlock and Molly." Watson began to explain, thanking her for the tea with a hasty nod. "I've been following Molly and Sherlock, well really just Molly, and they've been together the past few days."

Mrs. Hudson cried out. "Watson! You can't follow them!" Watson hung his head, not entirely shameful, as she went on. "Their love is their business!"

Watson looked up, suddenly ecstatic. "So they are in love!"

"I didn't say that." Mrs. Hudson gave him a look. "And why have you been following that poor girl?" She demanded.

"I wanted to see how Sherlock treated her if they ever went anywhere together." Watson said and sipped the tea. "This is wonderful."

Mrs. Hudson smiled cheekily. "Of course it is, dear."

Watson looked at her and suddenly realized what he had done.

"You can't tell Sherlock about this, about me after Molly."

Mrs. Hudson gave him a sweet look and said, "Of course not."

Watson pulled her into a hug, mindful of the tea cup in one of his hands, and she giggled into his shoulder.

"This'll be our secret."

* * *

Molly surprised Sherlock by pulling him inside. "He might have followed us." Molly said nervously and Sherlock followed her inside willingly.

He stood in front of her front door –his back pressed against the wood- with her pressed against him, straining to see out of the peep hole. Sherlock tried to make himself relax as Molly's eyes searched for her stalker. As he inhaled, he began to notice her natural fragrance. She smelled sweet, like soap and lilies.

"Um, Molly?" Sherlock was growing uncomfortable.

"Yes?" Molly whispered, still squinting.

"I think he's gone."

"How do you know?" Molly gasped and squirmed against him, trying to get a better view. Sherlock had to bite his lip and focus on breathing evenly.

"B-Because," Sherlock said, almost breathless, "h-he might have k-knocked by now."

"No, he might not have." Molly said stubbornly, her voice making him see stars. This was too nice of a position to be in.

"Molly," Sherlock finally said, "please get off me."

"What do you mean?" Molly asked softly in confusion and then she turned her head, having direct eye contact with him. Shock made her cheeks turn pink and then she pulled away.

Sherlock sank to the floor, breathing heavily. _Jesus, I could have taken her right there._ Sherlock put his hands over his eyes, groaning. _And what would her neighbors think?_

"Are you all right?" Molly asked sweetly where she stood, yards away from him.

"Y-Yes, that, um, surprised me." Sherlock climbed off of the floor and Molly disappeared into her flat. He followed her into the kitchen and thanked her for the offered cup of water. He gulped the water down, trying to come back to his senses.

He sat at her table, still slightly dazzled by daydreams, and Molly looked at him. "Sorry, Sherlock."

"That's quite all right." Sherlock said instinctively.

"No, it's not."

Sherlock said, almost exasperated. "Molly Hooper, you drive a hard bargain. Everything's all right."

"I can't see you." Molly said, forcefully.

Sherlock had come to terms with it a little better in the cab. "I know."

"Aren't you upset?" Molly asked, and Sherlock felt sad. She probably had expected him to lose his temper.

"No."

"How?" Molly cried in confusion.

Sherlock's eyes went to her and he spoke.

"It's all right, Molly. It really is. Those feelings will come again and if they don't, that'll be fine too."

Sherlock made sure to keep eye contact with the lovely woman. She was biting her lip and her eyes turned red around her brown irises.

"I'll love you, and if you don't feel the same for me, that's fine. I'll still love you, and-"

Molly started crying, the tears falling from her eyes in large crystal drops. Overwhelmed by emotion, Sherlock leapt from the table and rushed to her, his hands going to her cheeks. He wiped the tears away with his thumbs, cooing.

"Molly, sweet Molly," he said to her, his heart breaking at her tears. "Molly. . ."

She cried on, her hands trying to push him away. He ignored her hands and focused on her face. She was crying still, letting it all out. Sherlock felt remorse made him frown. How many nights had she cried herself to sleep?

"Molly. . ." Sherlock didn't know what to say. Her tears kept coming even as he wiped them away.

Sherlock started with his heart and made words come out of nowhere. "I see the flowers from the other day over there. I never told you what I thought they told you. Um, let's see."

He eyed her bouquet, she had put them in a pretty pale blue vase that matched his eyes. They sat in the vase on her table.

"Molly, I care about you greatly." Sherlock started. "You have feelings for me that I've always had for you."

Molly's tears began to slow though now she started sobbing.

Sherlock went on. "I believe that you are my first and only love."

Now she was wailing.

"A-And there are joys to come and I hope that they'll be with us forever as happy memories." Sherlock finished, and he shook his head. "That doesn't do it justice. Where the hell can I get twenty one roses?"

Molly gasped through her tears. "I-I'm truly dedicated to you?"

Sherlock nodded, glad to hear her try to talk. Her tears made him want to weep. "I believe it means something like that. A ring says it better."

Molly sniffled and once again, her hands tried to push him away.

"No, Molly," Sherlock pleaded. "Please don't."

"I can't have you." Molly said through her tears.

"Who said?" Sherlock demanded in a raw voice.

Molly shook her head in angst and Sherlock began to speak.

"I love you, Molly Hooper." Sherlock said. "I loved you the first day I set eyes on you, and 'hated' you ever since." Sherlock thought to Watson's words. "You harm the ones you love with hands or words."

"Sherlock-" Molly tried to interrupt.

"I won't ever lay a hand on you, and I only hope I can get my temper in check." Sherlock said his last words lightly. "Now please, _stop pushing me away_."

Molly sobbed on, and desperate, Sherlock pushed his lips against hers.

Her sobs stilled and the tears stopped. Sherlock made sure not to crush her, he was relatively new to this sort of thing, and put his hands on her wet cheeks, pulling her closer to him.

Molly exhaled around his lips, the sobs all gone, and she murmured, "I don't want to get hurt."

Sherlock smiles around her lips and says, "Whoever hurts you will answer to me."

Something in her broke when he said that, and Molly finally relented. Her hands went to his hair and she squeezed on the curls. Taking a shaky step backward, Sherlock kept contact with her.

Molly broke the kiss and Sherlock was blissfully delighted to see that her cheeks were red. Her eyes met his and he smiled when he saw the thousands of bright sparkles gathering in her irises.

She grabbed his hand and led him out of the kitchen.

* * *

Sherlock sat up, his thoughts organized. Sherlock stared around at Molly's soft bedroom.

"My god." Sherlock breathed and Molly sat up. His mind palace was back.

And it was all because of her.

Sherlock turned to her and planted a kiss on her lips. He was speechless, both because of his mind palace's restoration and the wonderful night.

Molly's brown eyes went to his pale blue ones and she smiled. Her light brown hair was streaked with afternoon sunlight.

"Watson will ask where you've been." She said shyly.

Sherlock grabbed her hand under the covers. "I'm sure he'll figure it out."

"I told Mrs. Hudson my. . ." Molly didn't need to finish. Sherlock smiled at her, growing warm in his heart at the thought of the problem that no longer existed.

"What did she say?"

"She said it'd be our secret." Molly said, her eyes beginning to warm when his hand crept up her arm.

"Well," Sherlock pulled Molly in for another kiss, "this one will be ours."

"What?" Molly was beginning to lose focus. "What do you mean?"

"This." Sherlock kissed her again, deeper. "This is our secret."


	9. Epilogue

Epilogue

Sherlock was almost positive Watson knew what was going on.

"Sherlock?" Watson called. "Where have you been?"

Sherlock answered vaguely. "Out. I've just been out."

Sherlock began to move away from the door.

"Where are you going _now_?" Watson demanded.

Sherlock ignored Watson's pestering questions and headed down to Mrs. Hudson's. She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing. It was later that day, the day after Sherlock's walk with Molly. Mrs. Hudson seemed to know what happened between them.

"Were you sweet to her?"

"I think so." Sherlock said cheerfully. He was ecstatic. "Watson will find out soon."

"I would think so." Mrs. Hudson said and smiled cheekily. "Why did you come home so late?"

"Well. . ." Sherlock said awkwardly, and a blush colored his cheeks.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes lit up and Sherlock quickly left her flat before she could say anything.

She was reminding him of something precious.

* * *

Months passed.

Sherlock found himself going to Watson for help with a particular thing, as Watson had found out before long.

"That one's shiny." Watson admired the diamonds.

Sherlock eyed it. "They're all shiny, Watson."

"But it sparkles."

"Shopping is elementary." Sherlock sighed. He pointed. "What about that one?"

"It's lovely." Watson looked at the pretty ring. "Why don't you buy it?"

"Does it scream 'Marry me'?"

Watson scratched the side of his head. "I would think so. Maybe."

"Watson."

Watson looked around the store, panicked. "Where is Mrs. Hudson when you need her?"

"She's out too, Watson." Sherlock explained absently. "This is hardly an easy thing to do."

"Any idea what she's buying?" Watson asked and tugged at the sleeves of his sweater. Sherlock shrugged and Watson pointed at another ring. "That one's fancy."

"They're all fancy." Sherlock grumbled.

"I am no help, am I?" Watson sighed, defeated.

Dismayed, Sherlock took a step back from the display cases and clapped Watson on the back. "You're helpful, Watson."

"How so? We've been here hours and we haven't came any closer." Watson said gloomily.

"I'd rather have you helping me than that Daniel fellow." Sherlock said firmly.

"That figures. He's a complete stranger."

"You're my friend, Watson," Sherlock said, "one of my dearest."

With that, Sherlock pulled Watson back to the display case. Watson looked at Sherlock and smiled softly.

"Which one are you looking at?"

"The one you like."

"Will you get it?"

Sherlock gave Watson a fond look. "Possibly."

Lestrade came up behind them and pushed them aside. "Get it, Sherlock."

"Why the rush?" Sherlock turned to Lestrade.

"I've got my men standing outside making sure she doesn't come this way." Lestrade said and added, "I think there's a slim chance she would. She's on her lunch break."

"Don't talk so loud!" Sherlock hissed, his eyes going to the front of the jeweler's. "You'll make everyone ask me who _she_ is."

Lestrade turned to Sherlock and smiled.

"That shouldn't matter."

"It doesn't." Sherlock said, and a random burst of happiness made him smile. "I'd love to tell them who the ring is for."

Lestrade looked taken aback by Sherlock's sudden smile and only gestured to the ring. "Buy it, Sherlock."

"Okay." Sherlock smiled and looked at the ring Watson picked. "By the way, Watson, I was waiting for you to say something about this ring. I was on the fence about it."

Watson's face glowed with pride. "Glad to help."

Sherlock gave his friend a fond nudge and followed Lestrade to the cashier. She smiled at him and asked daintily, "Who's the lucky girl?"

Sherlock exchanged happy glances with Lestrade and Watson and answered.

"My soon to-be fiancé: Molly Hooper."

* * *

Mrs. Hudson knocked on their flat. Sherlock answered and smiled at her.

"Oh, wow." He said, astonished. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

She had stopped at Lila's and once Sherlock let her in their flat, she handed Watson his bouquet. Watson looked handsome in a red sweater with a black bowtie.

"You're welcome, dear." Mrs. Hudson was glowing with excitement. She had been sure to wear a pretty beige dress suit for the occasion. Mrs. Hudson had a matching hat and tucked a primrose in her breast pocket.

Sherlock wore a tux under his trench coat and tucked something in his trench coat pocket. They hopped in the same cab and Sherlock watched the multicolored leaves begin to decorate London's dewy roads. Summer had come and gone.

"Where are you guys going all dressed up?" The cab driver asked cheerfully. "To a wedding?"

Watson and Mrs. Hudson exchanged knowing glances with Sherlock.

"Eventually." Watson said happily.

* * *

"Sherlock?" Molly asked in confusion when he walked into her lab. "What's going on? Do you need something?"

Sherlock gave her a fond look, setting his trench coat on the doorknob.

"Would you like to go to lunch?" he asked her, ignoring her question; Molly nodded, smiling with reddening cheeks. She was always a little pink in the face when she was in his presence.

"Sure, Sherlock." Molly said. "That'd be lovely."

Sherlock resisted the urge to smile and only watched as Molly flitted around at her empty work station. She had already started packing up, but was about to go on her lunch break with him. Sherlock watched her move gracefully about, and he smiled every time her eyes wandered over to him.

_She has no idea what's coming._ Sherlock thought with delight.

"What do you need?" Molly asked him, walking in front of him. Sherlock looked at Molly's heart-shaped face and gestured for Watson and Mrs. Hudson to come in.

Watson and Mrs. Hudson appeared out of nowhere and they stood behind Sherlock, identical smiles on their faces. They both held huge bouquets that consisted only of roses. Their bouquets held one hundred and eight exactly.

Molly looked at the two of them, confused, and then looked back at Sherlock.

"What do you need?" She asked again.

Sherlock got down to one knee and held up a black velvet box.

"You."

A primrose said, 'I can't live without you.'

One hundred and eight roses and a wedding ring said, 'Will you marry me?'

And Molly said, her eyes glittering with sparkles.

"Yes."

* * *

"Well," Watson looked at the newly engaged couple. "Now the fun part."

"Hm?" Sherlock looked at Watson from kissing Molly's cheeks in joy.

Watson and Mrs. Hudson exchanged glances, fond and exasperated. They replied in sync, turning back to Sherlock and Molly.

"The wedding."

* * *

K*H*W* (go to my profile :)


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